Cerryl sat and, following Jeslek’s example, took a small sip of the wine. He avoided frowning, sensing that the vintage had already begun to turn…and that it should not have done so yet.
“Yes…a long year…and a longer winter for us both.”
Cerryl raised his eyebrows.
“You and Fydel have a task or two here. Anya and I-and Eliasar-have more than a few elsewhere in Candar.”
“Ensuring we get more support next spring?”
“Of course. Much of this year was a facade. I had to let them wind enough rope around their own necks.” Jeslek took another swallow of wine and laughed once more. “Unless Fairhaven sees more tariffs and levies, there will be new rulers in a few lands. Enough of that.” The High Wizard smiled, then extended a wrinkled and stained scroll. “These were the terms I offered Elparta. Read them.”
The younger mage accepted the battered scroll and unrolled it, his eyes flicking across the words, some smudged, others blurred as if water had fallen on the scroll.
…from the honorable Jeslek, and the commanders Grestalk and Xeinon…
“Who are Grestalk and Xeinon?” asked Cerryl. “I’ve never heard of them.”
“The commanders of the Certans and Gallosians. Go on; they’re not important.” Jeslek took another swallow of wine, a healthy one.
Cerryl tried to hurry through the scroll.
…beseeching that the citizens of Elparta, in the interests of justice and mercy, lay down their arms and pay homage to the greater hegemony of Candar…
…that the river gates be destroyed and the water piers be open to all…that the battlements be cast down…that unmarried women be made available as consorts for…that all followers of the Black heresy, including the officers of the Spidlarian Guard who have committed atrocities and used evil magical tools against the hegemony, be turned over to the honorable Jeslek…that reparations from the granaries of the city be made to the forces of the hegemony…that all able horses are to be turned over to the representatives of the hegemony for proper redistribution…that all members of the so-called Council of Traders be returned to the Candarian Traders’ Guild for proper disciplinary action…
Cerryl tried to keep from swallowing as he laid the scroll on the polished surface of the table.
“What do you think of the terms?”
“I was not here,” Cerryl temporized.
“No, you weren’t. You think they’re harsh. They are. Even Fydel, good loyal Fydel, swallowed when he read them. I made the terms as difficult…as difficult as I could.” Jeslek smiled, even more broadly.
Cerryl’s forehead wrinkled. “Why?”
“Because I needed to destroy Elparta. Because I needed to frighten off those who were honest.” Jeslek laughed.
“Destroy Elparta? As a lesson to Lydiar and Hydlen?”
“Exactly.” Jeslek shook his head, then refilled his glass. “You do see, Cerryl. Better to destroy two cities that will seldom benefit the Guild than one that will. Though that may be necessary. I trust not, but folk can be stubborn unto death.”
“I see that,” Cerryl grudged. “But frightening the people?”
“After all the dead and wounded, and all the nasty devices the blues used…whatever happened in Elparta would not have been good. You cannot control soldiers who have been ambushed and attacked for seasons. Not without killing a number, and then they won’t fight well for you in the next effort. So you make sure that most of those who would fear you leave.” Jeslek shrugged. “I even told them that I offered honorable terms, especially given the depredations committed upon all Candar, the unfairness in trading, and the slaughter of defenseless traders.” The High Wizard laughed, then coughed, once, twice, before clearing his throat. “That’s also why I didn’t want you around.”
“Oh.” Cerryl could feel his guts tightening.
“You get to put the city back together. You are the mage in charge of Elparta, the one to restore it and to ensure keeping the peace. You wanted to bend the Patrol’s rules to benefit people. Here you can make or break the rules any way you want…so long as you get the city back together by late spring.”
After this…? Cerryl did swallow.
Jeslek ignored Cerryl’s almost inaudible gulp. “Fydel will deal with the Spidlarians, should it be necessary. You are to work together, if required.”
“I see.”
Thrap. After the brief knock on the door, Anya stepped inside. “I have what you asked for.” She walked over to the table and extended a single sheet of parchment to the High Wizard.
Jeslek motioned to the vacant chair to his left and began to read silently. Anya sat and waited, her face expressionless.
“Yes, this will do.” His sun-gold eyes glittered as he handed the parchment to Cerryl.
The youngest mage took the document and began to read.
…and know ye all that the commander of the city and all that be within it shall be the honorable mage Cerryl…
A long, long winter…
From where she sat between Jeslek and Cerryl, not looking at either man, Anya’s eyes glittered.
CV
IF HE HAD to take over as city commander or council chief or whatever, like it or not, Cerryl needed some building that could serve as his quarters and as a place where lancers and others could meet with him-one separate from Jeslek’s building and where he wouldn’t freeze once the ice and snow came. He needed such a place soon, since Jeslek was already readying his departure-with a goodly portion of the White Lancers who had taken Elparta.
Cerryl had found Hiser and given him the task of locating possible dwellings, ones where adjoining or attached dwellings could be used to house Hiser’s and Ferek’s companies-and ones close to Jeslek’s putative headquarters, even if Jeslek would not be in Elparta.
Now, as the fall rain misted down around him, Cerryl leaned forward in the saddle and looked down a wide avenue-for Elparta-just on the north side of the slope that held the High Wizard’s quarters toward a large, but comparatively more modest, dwelling set behind a low wall.
“This one…well, it be the best Ferek or me could find.” Hiser coughed. “Better than those leaking inns by the river. Smells, though. Everything does.”
Cerryl rode slowly the last hundred cubits, stopping short of the wall. The house was sturdy enough, despite the red roof tiles that had cracked in the upheavals that had tumbled the city walls. The front stone wall rose nearly six cubits. On one side the carriage gate had ripped off the iron brackets, although the smaller wrought-iron foot access gate remained locked in place. Behind the carriage gate was a stable separated from the main house by a courtyard.
After easing the gelding through the carriage gate, Cerryl tied his mount to a hitching post under the overhanging front eaves of the stable and dismounted. Hiser and two lancers quickly did the same and then led the way through the light rain to the front door.
One of the lancers turned the bronze door lever and pushed the door open. The odor welling out immediately turned Cerryl’s guts, and he stepped back for a moment to see if the light breeze would help clear the stench. While the worst did dissipate, Cerryl found himself breathing through his mouth as he stepped into the green-tiled and walnut-paneled front foyer of the dwelling. The four drawers of the oak chest set against the right wall hung out, except for the third, which rested on the floor, various colored linens strewn around it.
The single floor chest in the sitting room had also been ransacked, with shards of pottery sprayed across the green tiles and the braided gold rug in the center of the floor.
Cerryl repressed a retching gag as he stepped past the settee and through the squared archway into the small study adjoining the sitting room. Three bodies, already putrefying, lay on the pale green ceramic tiles between the corner table-desk and the circular table.
One had been-he thought-a young woman. The others might have been her parents. He tried not to swallow as he gathered chaos.